Shawshank
by ladidai
Summary: Thirteen runs a taco shack in Mexico. House is a man of his word. Post-series.


A/N: Inspired by Olivia Wilde's response in the _GQ_ oral history of _House_

XXX

The feeling of the braised pork shredding apart between Remy Hadley's fingers reminded her of a different lifetime. It wasn't quite the same since her patient's organs would have never disintegrated in her hands but it was more about plunging her fingers into a mass of warm, organic material. Though, now that she thought about it, muscle fibers did resemble the pork strands in her hands. It made her far too happy that she remembered what muscle fibers looked like so she pushed that thought out of her mind to concentrate on the task at hand.

The pork needed to be pulled apart so it could be quickly thrown into a tortilla in the middle of a busy service. The task didn't require precision which was good since her hands had become unreliable 18 months ago. The first shakes had happened a few weeks before but she didn't want to believe it. Even someone in her situation could lie to themselves, thinking the first symptom of an oncoming disease wasn't the first symptom.

"Everybody lies," his voice rang in her head when she realized what she was doing. It had made her laugh, stopping the tears that had started falling down her cheeks. Something else to thank him for, not that she could anymore.

The preparation of the pork finished with her dropping it back into a pot with its simmering braising liquid to keep it warm and moist, she moved onto her next job: chopping tomatoes, onions, and jalapeños. Her movements were slow and measured. Someone else might have finished this 30 minutes sooner but she came in early so she had plenty of time. The tetrabenazine helped with the tremors but it was still better for her to keep to simple things, and do them slowly.

The door hinges to the restaurant—well, more like a shack with two long tables, one masquerading as a bar/service area and the other the kitchen—always squeaked, no matter how much lubrication she used. It stopped bothering her after the first week here but this time it bothered her because it meant she had forgotten to lock the door again. Third time this summer. Part of her wanted to lie to herself again.

"Lo siento, no estamos abierto." Her high school Spanish teacher would have been proud at the improvements she made in the past 10 months. No helping her terrible accent though.

"How about a drink while I wait?" The knife glanced off the onion and almost took a layer of her skin with it. "I hear these tacos are to die for."

"You're not dead," she said as she pointed her knife at the man.

"I'm haunting you for all the pain and suffering you caused me," he said as he wiggled his fingers at her on his left hand, the other holding his cane. "Or maybe I'm a hallucination."

The onion wasn't going to finish chopping itself so she went back to it. "Huntington's doesn't cause hallucinations. And I'd be the one haunting you if we're going by pain and suffering caused."

His face scrunched up as it always did when she, or anyone, said something stupid as he limped towards the bar section of the table. He made a different face as looked over the limited selection.

"Una cerveza, por favor." His accent was even worse than hers. "And it doesn't usually cause hallucinations. Bugs crawling on your skin? Hearing voices?" The sound coming from his cane hitting the wooden floor of the shack came towards her then stopped. "Forgetting to lock up?"

"Why are you here?"

"Didn't you hear me? The tacos are to _die_ for." He dropped onto the stool across from her. "Or do you not eat the food here? Is the kitchen filthy? Does one of the nice Mexican ladies back there spit in the carne asada? Blink once for yes. Twice for—"

She rolled her eyes before pulling a beer from an ice bucket under the table, popping the cap, and slamming it on the bar in front of him. Some of the beer shot out and House made a dramatic motion of wiping the nonexistent beer off his face. He still nodded his thanks before taking a long pull from it. He looked thinner and his face might have had more lines on it but she hadn't made a habit of studying his face during her time on his team.

Of all the things she knew about House, she never thought he would fake his own death, even to get out of prison. No, that wasn't right. He would fake his death if he had a reason to. _Wilson_

"What about him?" She must have said it out loud.

"You faked your death so you didn't have to go to jail so you could take care of him."

"Guilty as charged."

"If you're here, that means…"

"You were always one of the quick ones," he said before dropping his eyes and lifting the bottle to his lips again.

"I don't remember being quicker."

"Wasn't talking about medicine." He looked up and gave her a wry smirk. "So, how about that taco?"

"We're not open yet. I'm still chopping." She could feel his eyes sliding down towards her hands. They stayed there until she became self-conscious about how slowly they moved so she stopped chopping and wiped them off on her apron.

"And yet, here I sit." He saluted her with the bottle. "Drinking beer and wondering how much a bad Yelp review would hurt these poor old ladies' business."

XXX

"I can't believe this taco is better than all of the ones I already had," House said with his mouth half-full. "These are the best fucking tacos in the world."

Of course she had given in. She had given in to more important things than tacos when it came to House. And she had more pressing issues than quarreling with him because the lunch rush was starting. If she had told herself five years ago she'd be preparing and serving food every day for the past 9 months, she would have laughed in her own face.

The repetitive work of the restaurant was soothing. The mad dash of serving hundreds of people stopped her mind from worrying for a few hours every day, and it saved her from the aftermath of trying to self-medicate away the worry. Drugs and alcohol were great for forgetting things but after a few months she didn't want to pay the price the next day. She never worried about the long-term costs of anything anymore.

Besides, it felt good to be doing something for someone else again. Feeding people was at least on the same side as curing their sicknesses so she couldn't help but grin as she watched House devour another taco, his sixth of the day, three after she had given in and now three more with her as she ate her lunch after service had ended.

"I told you the cow tongue was the best."

"Yes," he said after swallowing the last of the taco. "I do seem to remember you enjoying a woman's tongue."

"Funny," she said, rolling her eyes but she couldn't help chuckling. "So, how'd you find me?"

"Foreman."

"Foreman knows you're alive?"

"Maybe, but he knows your brother was desperately looking for you so he was generous enough to tell him the town where your last letter came from. Funny how you didn't tell him exactly where you were but it wasn't hard to find the pretty American in a small Mexican town. And I'm guessing Foreman will definitely know I'm alive once he looks up your brother."

His eyes were in the process of raking over her figure when she looked at him again. With any other man, she would have thought he was thinking sexually about her body but with House… "How bad is it?"

"More good days than bad."

He nodded, made a show of looking around, and then said, "So, what's there to do around here?"

They both knew why he had showed up. House was a man of his word. When she found out he died she was furious and distraught, often at the same time, and then disappointed at herself for being so selfish. The last time she had cried that much was the night in the motel during the spud-shooting road trip.

"You could go surfing," she said, nodding towards the beach.

It was his turn to say, "Funny."

"Lots of dance clubs around."

"Now you're just being cruel."

"You could run the bar." They both chuckled at the sparse selection. "Owners can't pay but you get a free lunch every day."

His head bobbed as he jokingly considered the offer.

"Do you have a place to stay?"

He nodded.

"Good."

"Need that private time with the girlfriend?"

She shook her head. His eyes narrowed just a bit. She broke up with Amy the same night when the shaking started. When it mattered, she couldn't help but push her away, even after a two year relationship. She sobbed that night as well.

"Lots of company over?"

"You could say that."

"Slut," he said with a smile.

She returned it. "You know it."

Leave it to House to be the only person in her life too stubborn for her to push away, like a zombie clinging to her leg.

"I—I'm glad you're here House."

He reached out towards her and she was shocked he would initiate any kind of physical contact, at least until his hand dropped and swiped the last taco from her plate.

"Like I said, only here for the tacos."


End file.
